


The Official Opposition

by Praise_your_maker



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anders is an activist, Fenris is merged with Malcolm Tucker, Hawke doesn't know what's going on, Humor, M/M, Modern Era, Reference to SDS scandal, Reference to police control tactics, Satire, Sebastian is not a nice person, Strong Language, UK Political AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-17 20:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15469887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Praise_your_maker/pseuds/Praise_your_maker
Summary: “If you came into this with your eyes open, Garrett– although I concede this can be challenging to certain MPs–then you'll realise this department has somewhat of an image problem.”“A problem that party leadership started to fix by choosing you as the replacement,” added Isabela. “But most people outside your constituency have no idea who you are or what you stand for. Therefore, we need you to do something attention grabbing… by the end of the week.”“At this early stage,” Fenris continued, “journalists will still be paying attention to you. If you do something now, perhaps even today, the perceived competency of the opposition will positively glow.”“I… understand?” said Hawke. “Did you already have an idea or…?”-A newly appointed Shadow Secretary of State, Garrett Hawke MP, launches a consultation into the negative effects endured by activists at the advice of his party spin-doctors. Dr. Anders Friedrich is a grassroots activist and philosophical author who is invited onto the consultation... and Fenris just wishes everyone could stop being incompetent for one minute.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's some British and general political terminology in here that not everyone will be familiar with, so I've included a glossary (with very basic definitions) in the end notes.
> 
> Thank you to Omphalos for a very comprehensive beta.

Being appointed to the Shadow Cabinet one and a half years into his political career had been surprising for Hawke. His first day at Party HQ as a shadow secretary was proving to be disconcerting too, but he put it down to being just that, his first day. Except, he'd been here many times prior, attending various meetings, and had met many of these people at the party conference. The difference this time, as well as presumably having his own desk, was the frankly bizarre way people were regarding him as he walked through the ornate corridor, already feeling altogether intimidated by the historical architecture. 

In the reception, he’d found a teenager waiting for him, who was now escorting him to meet the team. This intern, Saemus, seemed overly happy to be there at nine in the morning, which Hawke found rather alarming. But at least his reaction to Hawke was a positive one, while everyone else they passed seemed to watch him like deer in headlights.

One woman had stopped dead in her tracks in order to stare at him. She hadn't seemed phased when he stared back, or when he’d said, _“That is a delightful trouser suit. You must recommend me your tailor!”_. Rather, she’d just watched him silently as they’d continued down the corridor. Hawke had asked Saemus if there was something on his face, and been assured that there wasn't. 

His predecessor, the previous Shadow Secretary of State for Social Mobility, had been ousted by the party for “accepting financial incentives”. It was just a coincidence that the man was a centrist and stuck in 1997, of course. Hawke himself had been a member of the party since he’d attended university, but he’d decided to run for office in a byelection after their new democratic socialist leader had been elected to his position. Eastmouth had been a safe seat for the government, yet Hawke had won the majority. Many reasons were accredited to his success, such as his “everyday man” attitude and the nature of his predecessor's departure. Hawke tried not to think about how he was making a habit of replacing politicians involved in scandal.

Saemus led him into a large office, less grand than the corridor but equally as aged. Hawke made a mental note to ask about asbestos inspections later. The furniture was modern, but the walls were faded yellow and the floor hardwood. The windows looked too delicate to clean properly, which maybe explained why the glass was only just clean enough to see through. 

Looking around, there were approximately thirty desks, about half of them occupied by staff. 

“We share this office with a couple other departments- plus, more recently, the Department for Exiting the EU,” Saemus informed him. “Other departments are dotted around, HR and Payroll are upstairs- although that's more relevant to me than you.” He laughed nervously.

Hawke gave him a charming smile. “Thanks, mate.” 

Saemus blurted out a “no problem”, his voice cracking. 

A short blond man wearing a shirt but no tie noticed them and waved to the intern. Hanging up a phone call, he approached the two of them. The man oozed casualness, swaggering across the office with a hand in his pocket. Hawke half expected him to spit on the ground. 

“Garrett Hawke! How do you do?” The man gave a strong handshake. Surprisingly, his accent was American. 

“That's me,” Hawke said. “Easily yet notoriously recognisable.”

“This is Varric Tethras,” said Saemus. “He's your senior policy advisor.” 

Hawke had already exchanged a few emails with Mr. Tethras. It was his understanding that Varric had written his biography on the party website and provided some flattering quotes to the press. Hawke nodded in recognition. Saemus excused himself, but not before going in for another handshake with Hawke, while giggling. Hawke wasn't one to be unnecessarily mean, especially if someone was obviously nervous, and humoured the lad.

“Saemus is, by far, the most enthusiastic person on this floor,” Varric commented as they watched him leave. “Your… predecessor usually just stationed him at the photocopier, but I think he could really benefit from being taken out the office occasionally.” 

Hawke noted that his advisor had already started _advising_ him and suspected this would set a precedence. “I take it there will be a few things I might want to consider doing differently?” 

Varric laughed mildly. “Oh, almost certainly. Perhaps we could discuss this further in private?” He pointed to the meeting room, helpfully labelled as such. 

Varric showed him to his desk first, however. The computer was already on, and Hawke looked forlornly at the Windows XP login screen. The hardware was also old, but he conceded that the public probably wouldn't like their membership funds going into flashy new PCs for the entire building. After taking his tea order, Varric invited him to the meeting room when he was ready, leaving him to settle in. 

Hawke opened the intranet, logging into his parliamentary account. He noticed via his peripheral vision that he was being stared at by his immediate desk neighbours. One of them was on the phone, and only contributing “yes”, “no” or “not sure” to that conversation. Hawke adjusted his shirt collar, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. 

He smiled at the one not on the phone. “Lovely weather we're having.” It was foggy, and the mayor had issued a high air pollution warning this morning. “Very… industrial.”

“Uhuh.” They nodded before turning their gaze back to their screen. _Much better_ , Hawke thought. 

*

The meeting room was an odd mishmash of _listed-building_ and _office chic_. The walls and floor were the same as the office, and the door was so heavy that Hawke, well built and ex-army, had to put his back into opening it. The table was an antique, likely in here because they weren’t allowed to move it, and even if they could, it wouldn't have fit through the door. Yet the chairs all appeared to be IKEA style, grey in colour and clashing horribly with the table. A whiteboard on wheels and a flipchart had also been shoved in a corner. 

Hawke listened to Varric attentively as he explained the office dynamic, who to watch out for, and how to get on the leader’s good side. Mostly, Hawke just nodded and took the odd note, but then something Varric said was too interesting not to comment on.

“It was _him_ who started that rumour?”

“Yep. No one even uncovered the corruption until after our leader found out about him starting the rumour and had someone make inquiries. If he’d just kept his mouth shut, he would still have your job.”

“Well, that's technically a good thing then?”

“Oh yes. He was simultaneously stuck in the past, but determined to climb the political career ladder. I told him once that's what _conservatives_ are for. Next day, my favourite cup went missing.” Varric shook his head. “Never did find it.”

Hawke didn't know quite what to say, resorting to humour instead. “If it means anything, I promise that if you piss me off, I won't nearly be so passive aggressive about it. Nothing beats a good glass of water to their face to get your point across.”

Varric grinned. “If only that worked at PMQs.” He put on an exaggerated British accent to say, “Mr. Speaker, does the Prime Minister agree that she's looking rather parched this afternoon?” 

Hawke didn't miss a beat. “The Right Honorable gentleman should perhaps look to his own party for sources of dehydration.”

“Mr. Speaker, what the Prime Minister neglects to mention is her own unquenchable thirst for power. How much more damage is the Prime Minister going to do to herself without this refreshing glass of socialism?” 

“It is the party in opposition that are trying to deprive the British people of my far-reaching and perfectly nourished influence,” Hawke continued. “Mr. Speaker, does the Right Honorable gentleman admit that ‘thing he did example number three’ makes him wholly unqualified to judge the arid condition of the government?”

Varric chortled and looked about to say something else when there was a knock at the door. Saemus entered, looking notably less happy than he had an hour ago. 

“Sorry to disturb. They're here early.”

“Already?! Jesus, they're eager with this one.” Varric said, going on to instruct Saemus to let their guests in and then to make a black coffee and an espresso from the machine.

Hawke had never seen two people so out of place in traditional politics. They could only possibly exist under the current leadership, and Hawke wondered what exactly they had done before. The woman walked in first; Hawke had seen her before at Parliament but never spoken to her. He knew she was basically a party whip, but unelected and with significantly more power, and that she didn't talk to backbenchers much unless they were becoming a problem. She wore tight fitting, high-waisted black slacks, a tailored blouse with an unconventional number of buttons left undone, and her lip was visibly pierced. 

She wouldn't look that out of place in an average office in London. Her companion, however, looked like a member of one of those bands Hawke used to like while at university. Despite his tailored grey suit, the man had bleached white hair and completely visible tattoos on his chin and hands. Hawke liked both of his guests’ appearances; he himself had tattoos hidden under his clothes, after all, but he would never have expected even his own party to be so progressive. 

He stood to greet them, but hesitated, noticing that the man was on the phone.

“No one cares, Patrice.” The man’s voice was far too deep for his slender frame. “It's bullshit; pure speculation… if you even try to paint it up as true then you won't fucking need me to slice open your guts for all the… Oh very mature, did they teach you to articulate yourself like that at your precious grammar schools?” 

The sort-of-whip cleared her throat and offered her hand. Hawke shook it, and she whispered “Isabela Llomerryn,”. Hawke introduced himself in the same hushed tones while the man’s tone became louder and more aggressive. 

“No. You will shut the fuck up because you are an insignificant skidmark left by the shit heap on legs that is your department. Anything you say is toxic gas- actually, go ahead and spread your lies. I do enjoy watching your journey to unwanted insignificance.” He hung up then, and his mannerisms didn't match the tone of his voice. He seemed calm, his expression content. 

“Hawke,” Varric started. Hawke didn't notice immediately the use of his surname, being mostly distracted by the scary man, but was pleased nonetheless when he did. “Meet Fenris, Director of Communications, and Isabela, Chief Advisor to the Shadow Cabinet.” 

“I'm a very nice bureaucrat,” she said, winking. 

“At least you're honest.” Hawke put on his most pleasant smile.

“Hmm, honest is not the word I'd use.” Hawke noticed her eyes rake up and down his body, but wasn't sure what to think of that. He greeted Fenris instead, who also looked him up and down, but not at all in the same way.

“Garrett Hawke, the Left’s poster boy of the south coast,” Fenris said, smirking. “You’ll be a valuable asset to the frontbench, I'm sure.” Hawke wasn't sure whether he was being sincere or not. 

Saemus walked back in with their drinks at this point, handing the espresso to Isabela with particular care. They sat around the table, and Fenris cut to the chase.

“If you came into this with your eyes open, Garrett– although I concede this can be challenging to certain MPs–then you'll realise this department has somewhat of an image problem.”

“A problem that party leadership started to fix by choosing you as the replacement,” added Isabela. “But most people outside your constituency have no idea who you are or what you stand for. Therefore, we need you to do something attention grabbing… by the end of the week.”

“At this early stage,” Fenris continued, “journalists will still be paying attention to you. If you start something next week, they will have lost all interest, but if you do something now, perhaps even today, the perceived competency of the opposition will positively glow.” 

“I… understand?” said Hawke. “Did you already have an idea or…?”

“Pick a social issue,” said Isabela, gesturing as if there were a rack of leaflets for him to choose from. “And launch a consultation on it. We'll fund the expenses of the participants, and Varric's people will find them. You'll hold regular meetings until you agree some conclusions, which you will write up and present to the government.”

“What, you mean we have a budget for this kind of thing?” Hawke asked, amazed. 

“It'll also be the only thing you have a budget for,” Fenris said dryly. “What'll it be then? Your background could prove an advantage were it to be for the employment prospects of veterans.”

Of course Fenris had already read up on him. Hawke wasn't sure why he was surprised.

“No, um… I'm well aware of the difficulties we face and would rather not spend even more time thinking about it.” They all seemed to respect his lack of desire to talk about it, for which Hawke was grateful. “However, I was thinking about a completely underlooked issue: activists. They call for social change and can be directly credited with so much legislative change, but what sort of position are they in afterwards? Some are obviously employed by non-profits, but many have been arrested, or face discrimination due to their political leanings. And that's not even counting political refugees.”

“Interesting,” said Isabela, who genuinely appeared to find it so. “What will you be implying then? That activists are a separate marginalised group?” 

“Perhaps, if that's what the consultation agrees.” 

Isabela and Varric both nodded and then turned to Fenris expectantly. He pursed his lips.

“It’ll please the Huffington Post, most certainly. The old media will immediately accuse you of trying to create a “safe space” or other such nonsense for special snowflakes. This hardly matters since our voter base doesn’t read those papers, but it's something you'll have to be prepared for.” 

“But it's possible?” 

“Oh yes. Send any journalist’s requests my way and I'll handle them. We'll need to practice some soundbites in case you're approached unexpectedly.” 

Hawke could barely believe what he was hearing. Not only had he been specifically instructed to enact social change, but he was being spoon fed into it. 

“Let me make something perfectly clear before this goes any further,” Fenris said, leaning across the table. “As important as this campaign might be, what's absolutely vital is that you _do not_ worsen the reputation of this department. If you put the party or Shadow Cabinet in any position of embarrassment, I will abandon you to the wolves and let them tear you apart, understand?” 

_Fucking hell_. “Understood.” 

Fenris glared at Hawke like he was trying to read the last line of letters in an eye test. Hawke felt himself sweating under the scrutiny.

“Isabela?” Fenris said, finally.

“Yeah, I've got it covered.”

He smiled at her, the first sign of softness Hawke had seen on him. “Listen to her closely, Garrett. She knows what she's talking about.” With that, Fenris started to takes his leave. But as soon as he stepped out of the door, he turned on his heel back around, re-entered the room, and slammed the door shut. “Vael.”

The room collectively groaned.

Sebastian Vael was someone whom Hawke was all too familiar with. He'd got a hereditary peerage and happened to be the party’s Chief Whip for the House of Lords. One might have thought that meant he would stick to the upper house, yet he was infamous for hounding MPs and party staff. The remaining centrists in the party were very fond of him, believing he'd be a suitable candidate to usurp the leadership, should he become elected. 

“For the love of God, don't let choir boy in,” Varric begged. “It's too early for this.”

Inevitably, there was a knock at the door. “Room for one more?” The sweet Scottish brogue juxtaposed the irritating nature of the words.

“Shall we just pretend we're not in?” Isabela whispered.

“He saw me,” said Fenris, frowning initially, but as he turned to open the door, his expression morphed into a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

“Vael!” He went in for a bro-hug, and Sebastian, expression mirroring Fenris’, accepted it. “It's been, what? Three days since you last interrupted an important meeting?” 

Isabela mumbled something that Hawke couldn't quite hear, besides the words “two days”. 

“Now, now. I only interrupt the interesting ones, Fenris.” Releasing him, Sebastian greeted Isabela, who ignored him completely, and Varric, who made a comment about him not knowing the first thing about 'interesting’, his tone implying casual banter, but his frown betraying the veneer. 

“Hawke, it's been too long!”

Last time they'd met, Hawke had been at his Westminster apartment, and Sebastian had just turned up. Neither Hawke nor the other MPs he lived with at his second home had ever told Sebastian their address. Yet he’d turned up, and Hawke couldn't just not invite him in for tea. He’d regretted it severely after his evening had been spent being manipulated to support a leadership usurper, however. In the end, he’d pretended to Sebastian that he would support the new guy, while pointedly not doing any such thing. That guy had lost, anyway.

“ _Too long_ , yes.” 

“So, what's it this time?” Fenris asked. “Are you going to persuade the shadow minister to support fox hunting? Or perhaps, reinstating the papacy?”

“Oh come now, I only wished to congratulate Hawke. It's so rare we have someone so talented that they rise to the top so effortlessly.” 

“Much like someone inheriting a lordship, yes?” 

Sebastian laughed, wagging a finger at Fenris, whose laugh was less convincing, sounding closer to a jammed CD player stuck playing the same note. That mental image made Hawke giggle too, which no doubt Sebastian interpreted as him joining in on the joke.

“So, speaking of such things-” Sebastian placed a hand on Hawke's shoulder. There had been a time when Hawke would have smashed Sebastian’s head into the table for that, and the urge was still at the back of his mind. “You never told me your grandparents were Lord and Lady Amell.”

Hawke winced. At least as a regular MP, most people hadn't cared enough about him to dredge up the past so much. 

Sebastian continued. “I do believe that my father knew your mother, before all that business went down. We could have grown up together!”

Hawke had suddenly never been more grateful for his mother leaving that life behind. “Lost opportunities, eh?” he said, shifting so Sebastian had to move his hand away. 

“Did you know about this, Fenris? About your _social mobility_ shadow secretary coming from old money?” 

Fenris just raised an eyebrow at Sebastian. 

Hawke intervened instead. “Such a shame that my mother couldn't have inherited the title even if she’d wanted to.”

“Yes, we really must work to overcome such archaic traditions,” Sebastian said, gesturing between them.

“Hawke grew up in a council estate, went to a comprehensive, and then attended an average university- no offense, Hawke,” said Varric. “If you're worried about how his privilege will come across in the media, there's clearly nothing to it.” 

“Oh? Then there's nothing to worry about, is there? Well! I guess my work here is done. I'll be off then.” 

“Don't let the door crack your skull on the way out.” Fenris was already holding the door open. They exchanged more hollow laughs before Sebastian left. “Or slam into you at such velocity that your spine bursts out through your chest. We really shouldn't get blood on these walls.” 

“Arse,” said Isabela once the door was closed. “We were aware of your heritage, by the way.” 

“And until now, it was irrelevant,” Fenris added. “He's going to use it against you... I need to cancel some meetings.”

And Hawke had been really looking forward to today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> Backbench(ers) and Frontbench(ers) - Ministers/secretaries of state and shadow ministers/shadow secretaries of state sit on the frontbench in Parliament. MPs who do not hold these special positions sit on the backbenches. 
> 
> Chief Whip - A whip is a party official whose job it is to control MPs’ voting intentions in Parliament. Both the House of Commons and House of Lords have one for each of the biggest parties. 
> 
> Comprehensive (school) - a state secondary (age 11-16) school. If they have an attached Sixth Form College, then it's age 11-18.
> 
> Council Estate - a council house is social housing owned by the state. A council estate is an area with lots of council housing. 
> 
> Grammar school - a state school with selective intake of students (they choose the smart kids who apply) for ages 11-18. There's a lot of leeway but overall, conservatives like grammar schools and The Labour Party do not.
> 
> Hereditary Peerage - For some reason, we still have nobility in this country and some members of it (Labour imposed a limit on them in 1999) inherit positions in the House of Lords. 
> 
> House of Commons - The part of Parliament where MPs debate and vote.
> 
> House of Lords/upper house - The part of Parliament where the 90 hereditary peers, some bishops, and appointed peers scrutinise the House of Commons. 
> 
> “Left’s poster boy of the south coast” - Left meaning left-wing politics. England’s south coast is a largely conservative (right/centre-right wing) area, with the exception of Brighton and a couple other areas. 
> 
> Listed Building - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Listed_building
> 
> MP - Member of Parliament. Each constituency (town/city/borough/general area/it’s not that consistent) elects an official to represent them at Parliament. The vast majority of MPs represent a political party.
> 
> The Opposition - The second biggest party in Parliament. They have the Leader of the Opposition (equivalent of the Prime Minister) and the Shadow Cabinet.
> 
> PMQs - Prime Minister’s Questions. This 4:36 minute video will explain everything you need to understand that bit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLSq1h7AvkE
> 
> Second Home - MPs who live far away from London often have a second home in London that they spend some of their week in. Many share with other MPs.
> 
> Shadow Cabinet - The Cabinet is the decision making body of the government, made up mostly of MPs, who are in charge of the government departments (Education, Health, Foreign Office, The Prime Minister, etc). The Shadow Cabinet is the opposition’s equivalent of it, whose job it is to critique The Cabinet. 
> 
> Shadow Secretary of State (or shadow minister) - A Secretary of State (or minister) is a member of The Cabinet who leads a government department (Education, Health, etc). A Shadow Secretary of State is the opposition’s equivalent of it, whose job it is to critique the government.
> 
> “Stuck in 1997” - reference to the year in which The Labour Party won the general election and Tony Blair became Prime Minister. Tony Blair was loved at the time, but over the years that lessened significantly. He’s a centrist, significant cause of the Iraq War and is a war criminal. He is openly opposed to Jeremy Corbyn.
> 
> Westminster - a very famous area of London. Often used as a shorthand for “the political district” or something to that effect.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders attends the first meeting of the consultation at the opposition headquarters, and doesn't restrain himself as much as he should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated.
> 
> Many thanks once again to [Omphalos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos) for an amazing beta.
> 
> I wanted to note something here that I couldn't find a convenient way of including in the story just yet. Anders is ethnically German, but his family moved to England when he was twelve. As a consequence, he considers himself mixed culturally and his sense of humor is very British (when talking to English speakers, anyway). I feel that any German people potentially reading this, or anyone familiar with German culture, would find Anders distinctly not German and so don't worry, there's a reason for it!
> 
> Unnecessary preemptive explanation out the way, enjoy!

“Name?” 

“Anders Friedrich.”

The receptionist stared at him. Anders had become familiar with that expression since moving to the UK. “F-” he started.

“For Sierra?”

“No, Foxtrot.” Anders could be a patient person and, having met people from a wide variety of backgrounds, was sympathetic to people that couldn't pronounce certain names. However, he was relatively certain that he did not just say 'Sriedrich’. “Romeo, India, Echo, Delta-”

“Oh, like _‘Frederick’?_ ” 

“Yes, _like_ ‘Frederick’ but less '-ederick’.” Anders felt a bit bad for taking a condescending tone with the English woman who was obviously just doing her job. It was a habit that Kallian, his line manager, had chastised him for frequently, even though he’d never spoken to her like that. Thinking about it, Anders really wasn't sure how he'd never been fired. Trying not to sound sheepish, he finished spelling his surname.

The receptionist, expression tight, handed him a guest lanyard and pointed him to the waiting area. Six people were already sat down, plus a ginger lady paced the floor, talking on her mobile. Anders was absolutely certain he recognised her, but couldn't place where from. She was obviously a professional, her suit expensive-looking, but she also wore a practical digital watch and flat shoes, making Anders think she had to be on the move a lot. Perhaps a social worker? Had he ever met a British social worker? He really should have read the agenda.

Before he could spend more time thinking about it, he realised one of the other people waiting was talking to him. “Pardon?”

“Eh… I said: what’re you supposed to be?” said the red-headed and bearded old man. He looked Anders up and down. “Some Russell Brand pretender?” The man’s voice sounded like he really needed to cough up a lung full of phlegm. 

Anders couldn't form words for a few seconds. He wanted to be offended by the description, but he supposed the super skinny black jeans, trench coat and combat boots were somewhat Brand-esque. “Is that meant to be a question?” 

The man’s laugh sounded so slimy that Anders had to physically stop himself from grimacing. “Whatsit’ to you?”

“What-”

A young man with jet black hair interrupted their conversation, for which Anders was beyond grateful. “Is everyone here for the activist's consultation?” 

It quickly became obvious that they were as they gathered around him. 

They followed the man into a lift and two floors up. He introduced himself as Saemus, informing them he'd be taking the minutes today. Anders thought he looked and sounded exactly like a future politician being groomed for the role. They were led through an office and into a meeting room.

“Mr. Hawke will be joining you shortly. If you'd like to take your seats, I'll take your orders for tea and coffee.” 

Anders declined a drink. Perfectly good water was already on the table. Anders and the seven other guests had their seats indicated by stickers with their names printed on them. He was sitting next to a petite lady, the only other one here not wearing a suit. 

The ginger lady sat opposite him and attached her sticker to her jacket. Anders’ heart sunk when he read 'DCS Aveline Vallen’, remembering exactly how he knew her. She'd been promoted, clearly, but she was definitely the police officer who charged him five or so years ago. Again, Anders wondered how he still had a job.

DCS Vallen seemed to notice him staring. She frowned, mouth open slightly like she was about to say something. There was no point in pretending, Anders conceded, as if she didn't remember him now, she'd work it out over the meeting. He tried to smile pleasantly at her.

Beside her, the bearded man reclined his chair back. His shirt and tie looked like something he only wore when he absolutely had to, as they weren't exactly form fitting. The man was bulky and unkempt, all hair and calluses. To Anders’ dismay, he squinted at him before speaking again.

“Doctor, huh? What's that like?”

“I… what?” Anders immediately regretted asking.

The bearded man laughed again. Anders felt it shiver up his spine. “What’s it like? You always gotta’ … you know.”

“I certainly _do not_ know.’

“Like look at people's junk or handle their piss!” he said, gesturing in ways Anders certainly didn't need to further visualise this. DCS Vallen audibly grimaced, and most of the other guests fidgeted or cleared their throats.

“Oh, I wanted to be a doctor,” said the lady beside Anders, her accent Welsh. “But then I realised I'd have to do all that-” she waved in the bearded man’s direction. “-and thought better of it. Although blood never bothered me, just the whole sealing them back up part.”

“Nothin’ wrong with a little blood, heh.”

Anders didn't know what to comment on first for all the things that really needed addressing. In the end he went for, “I'm not actually a medical doctor, just a university lecturer.”

The lady beamed. “Me too!” Her smile was adorable, and Anders couldn't help but reciprocate. “Well, I'm not a professor. My research is very specific and there aren't many students in the subject. Where do you work?”

Anders was strongly considering adding her to Northern Europe's Finest, named as such by Kallian. She pointed out a couple of years ago that all of Anders’ friends represented a different northern European country. She was Danish and Anders was German. Velanna represented Ireland, Nathaniel England, Kristof Sweden and Sigrún Iceland. It's a coincidence, but perhaps they were drawn to each other in a workplace where there was so much diversity that most people's first language was not English. 

They spoke back and forth at a level that seemed to disinterest the bearded man, much to Anders’ relief. Her name was Merrill, and she was an archaeologist, specialising in the restoration of intentionally damaged artefacts. Anders correctly assumed she was a vegan before she actually mentioned it. She just had that look about her.

Someone opened the door and held it there for Saemus, who was carrying a tray of cups of tea. When they walked into Anders’ view he recognised them as the MP. 

“Good afternoon, everyone!” Garrett Hawke’s voice filled the room. The man radiated extroversion, immediately helping his junior by calling out their drink requests and carrying them over. “Green tea for the fairytale queen?” 

Thankfully, he was talking to Merrill. She was wearing a retro green dress, vintage jewellery and had flowers in her hair, so it seemed like an apt title. She bashfully accepted it. 

As soon as Hawke settled, Saemus seated beside him, he got straight to business. It was odd, Anders thought, how a man that had been in frontbench politics for such a short amount of time looked so suited to the role. The news article he’d spared a glance at mentioned Hawke had never worked for the party before standing in his local election. Of course, the shift in the party's ethos had led to many resignations, so it seemed likely that there were many new faces in the Shadow Cabinet. 

“As my advisor explained, we wanted to conduct this meeting in such a way that I throw ideas at you, and you feedback. Like a focus group of experts.” 

Anders wasn't entirely convinced. He was afraid they were going to be asked to introduce themselves with icebreakers at this rate. 

Luckily, Hawke just read the names and credentials of everyone in attendance. “Lirene Avery, coordinator at the Islington Food Bank and a frequent sight outside Downing Street,” he said with a toothy smile.

“Standing up for the rights of the oppressed is no joke, Mr. Hawke,” Lirene replied, frowning and tight-lipped. That prompted an awkward silence that seemed to last an eternity, but in reality was probably two seconds.

“I meant no offense,” Hawke said to her. “We invited you because of your passion for such things.” _Smooth_. Lirene didn't seem to have anything else to say and the MP moved on. 

“Dr. Anders Friedrich, Lecturer at the University of Kensington and author of ‘The Communist Manifesto: How Far Have We Come?’.” He eyed Anders, smirking. “Any relation?” 

“Hm?” It took Anders a moment to understand the poor joke. “Oh- no. But I do have a close friend who’s called Karl.”

“Please tell me he's German?” 

“Heh, unfortunately he's English.” 

Hawke just laughed at that, a deep sound that resonated from his chest and made Anders reactively smile. 

The other consultants came from a range of backgrounds. Besides Lirene, DCS Vallen and Merrill, there was a representative from a refugee charity, an ex-asylum seeker who’d written best selling books, and a semi-retired barrister. The bearded man, Bran Oghren, was a retired miners union leader and, as the MP’s familiar humour seemed to imply, an old friend of his party’s leader. Anders laughed internally, imagining the pair of them discussing worker's rights over a pint. All of them were experienced with demonstrations and other forms of activism, although DCS Vallen and the lawyer were on the other side of it.

“So, I thought we should start at the deep end,” said Hawke. “There’s a growing concern surrounding the legacy of the Special Demonstration Squad, as you'll likely be aware. We want to know how concerned you are about the data that the police might still possess on the families and organisations affected.”

Anders frowned. “Very?” 

Hawke just smiled. “Could you elaborate?”

“Certainly. I am _very_ concerned that one of the most unethical operations conducted in this country has been regarded so flippantly by our politicians,” Anders said as calmly as possible. He started to squeeze the pencil he was holding. “Which is no surprise considering the ineptitude of those conducting the inquiry.”

DCS Vallen, who had been looking very uncomfortable as Anders spoke, interrupted. “There are multiple reasons for the inquiry’s delay. The evidence will take more time than anticipated to gather, but I can assure you that the Met is cooperating fully.”

“You actually believe that, don’t you?” Anders said to her. 

“I’m not at liberty to discuss this in detail, but I don’t just _believe_ \- hang on, have we had this conversation before?”

“The penny drops! How have you been, officer?”

DCS Vallen’s frown morphed into disdain. 

“Erm, old friends?” Hawke asked. 

“Oh yes. But last time we saw each other I didn’t have much to say other than ‘no comment’.”

“That’s a strange thing to say to a friend, isn’t it?” asked Merrill. 

Anders was about to explain it to her, finding her too sweet to be annoyed at, but Hawke spoke first. “My apologies. My advisor must have neglected to check any potential conflicts of interest.”

“I’m relatively certain that everyone here has a conflict of interest, Mr. Hawke,” said Saemus. The MP stared daggers at his junior while covering it up with a shaky laugh. The lad flushed red. “What I mean is… everyone here is closely connected to the topic we’re discussing.” 

“This is a damn sight more interesting than they said it’d be,” added Oghren, the only person in the room smiling. 

“Perhaps we should move on,” Hawke said. Anders was equal parts annoyed and amused.

Without leaving a moment for the discussion to take another turn, Hawke brought up the topic of police riot control techniques. Lirene described her harrowing experience of being in a protesting crowd that was kettled by police as she’d had to look after a scared teenager stuck within it. DCS Vallen, although sympathetic to Lirene, defended it as being the only option sometimes. The table debated the matter passionately, but productively. Anders was starting to feel guilty for giving attitude to their presiding MP.

“We’ll take all of this into consideration and discuss the matter with our legal advisors,” said Hawke when the table had nothing left to say. “On a related note, have any of you felt personally victimised as a result of your involvement in protests?”

Anders scoffed, the guilt immediately retreating. “You’re asking that to some of the most privileged activists in the country.”

“Heh, point taken. Perhaps you know what other people have experienced?”

“My friend was dismissed because of their participation in a BLM demonstration,” said Merrill, shaking her head. “They’d been through the legal system before and didn’t have it in them to take them to court.” 

“That’s terrible,” said Hawke. “Did they find work?”

“Not exactly, it was difficult without a flattering reference. In the end I persuaded them to go back into education, and now they’re doing a PhD.”

Anders was sympathetic. “Who fired them?” he asked softly. 

Merrill didn’t respond, staring intently at the table. “Is this mahogany?” she said instead.

Confused, Anders tried to look to others at the table. Hawke had his eyebrow raised at Merrill, but Saemus looked especially uncomfortable, looking anywhere but the table and fidgeting. 

“Something the matter?” Anders asked him.

“No!” he replied too quickly. “I just … feel bad for her.”

“Her?”

“Is that the time?” Merrill suddenly said. “Gosh, I might have to leave soon.”

“We’re scheduled for another hour,” said Hawke. “Are you okay, Saemus?”

“Fine!” he insisted. Anders realised he had slipped a note across the table to Hawke. He read it, expression falling into a stiff smile. 

“Perhaps we can discuss the matter later, Ms Sabrae.”

Anders was often told that he needed to let things go. Some things just weren’t his problem and he needed to start respecting that. Yet, having had just about enough of people ignoring him his entire life, he thought this advice was a load of shit. He stood up abruptly, marched around the table and snatched the note before either of them could react. 

It read, in hastily scrawled writing, ‘think it was us - change subject!!!’. 

Anders was seething. “Nice, very nice. And you were worried whether we’d be impartial.”

“Mr. Friedrich, this is disturbing for us all-” Hawke started.

“Oh, I’m sure it would be terribly damaging to your party’s reputation!”

“Anders,” Merrill started, pausing. “Oh, nevermind.” To the politicians, Merrill said, “Your party ruined her life.”

Lirene, making a disgusted noise, got up and left. Saemus got up and chased out after her, leaving one spluttering MP. DCS Vallen had nothing to say, but sat on the edge of her seat. Oghren just leaned forward with obvious and shameless eagerness. Hawke was finally able to form words enough to ask Merrill when this happened.

“Some time before you were elected. Plenty of your colleagues were here for it, although I don’t think any higher up’s knew about it. I don't know much else, sorry.”

“Hey now, everything all right in here?” asked an American man who was hovering in the doorway. Anders recognised his voice as the man who initially invited him.

“Fucking fantastic,” replied Anders, grabbing his bag and leaving.

*

The scent of the Central Line, unpleasant as it was, was barely noticeable to Anders anymore as he'd been desensitised to it some years ago. On his usual commute, he knew the route so well that he instinctually braced himself just before the train would shake or brake. He wasn't as well versed with this route from Bond Street, but the Jubilee line he’d taken from Westminster station to get to Bond Street had seemed to serve a totally different calibre of commuter even at midday. At least this central line train was just as uncomfortable and dirty as normal. Back where he belonged.

It was, perhaps strangely, a comfort. He had always been skeptical of this consultation, only accepting the invitation because Kallian persuaded him too, but he didn't expect to immediately uncover a political scandal. It irritated Anders where it once would have excited him, his disillusionment with mainstream politics only worsening. He let himself sink into the seat and zone out, until the train arrived at his stop. 

Once above ground, he messaged the WhatsApp group to ask where they'd congregated. Sigrún replied first, telling him they'd gone to the Coffee Republic just outside campus. Realistically, none of them had time for this. They all had research, papers to write up, or grades to assign. But if they didn't take a moment everyday to regain their ever-shaky mental faculties, then nothing would ever get done.

He entered the coffee shop, spotting Northern Europe's Finest squashed onto a table that was probably for four people, Kallian and Sigrún being small enough to share a seat. 

“Care to offer your lap, Nathaniel?” Anders asked, only half joking. 

Nathaniel glared at him, likely also only half jokingly. “Ask Kristof,” was his only response. 

The man in question was typing on his phone furiously and didn't seem to notice Anders’ presence at all. Anders was about to ask, but Kallian turned to him and spoke first. Her afro, massive as it was, ended up in Sigrún's face, who carefully removed a curl from her mouth.

“Someone is _wrong_ on the _internet_ again,” she said with an exasperated smile. 

Anders gave her a knowing nod, before stealing a chair from another table. His friends were affectionate, and Nathaniel was comfortable enough with his sexuality that being close with the same sex wouldn’t truly bother him, but Anders was both heavy and bony, and it probably wouldn't be socially acceptable here. 

“Do I look like Russell Brand?” he asked the group.

Nathaniel and Sigrún snickered, and he feigned a sulk in response. 

“You're blond,” Velanna observed.

“How astute of you,” Anders said, softening the sarcasm with a kind smile. “I mean my clothes.” 

“I mean…” Sigrún started, the pause not giving Anders’ much hope. “He would probably wear what you're wearing, but that doesn't mean you look like him.”

“Great. Is this what my students think of me?” Anders shed his coat self-consciously, leaving him in a white band t-shirt. 

“They’re probably too young to remember him now. You're safe,” Nathaniel chided.

“Actually,” said Velanna. “Some of my students formed their entire ideologies from his YouTube channel.” 

“Amazing,” said Anders with no hint of amazement, only disappointment.

“You're beautiful, Anders,” said Kallian. She sounded sincere despite the giggle she was suppressing. “What's brought this on?” 

“A dirty old man at the thing today said it.”

Kallian just looked at him, frowning questioningly. 

“There's no more context to it. An old man with a vulgar sense of humour seemed to think they'd invited a Russell Brand wannabe to the activist's consultation.”

Nathaniel laughed mockingly. “And you have to deal with this all week. I'm almost jealous I don't get to attend.”

“Shut up,” he said, punching his colleague’s arm with no real force. “Might not have to deal with it anyway.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” asked Kallian. “Actually, shouldn't you still be there for another half an hour?”

“Oh. Turns out one of the other guests had a friend who was fired by his party for taking part in a demonstration, and it all sort of exploded.” 

Kallian’s frown became more severe. 

“What's this?” asked Kristof, finally looking away from his phone. “Fired for taking part in a protest?” Anders tried not to laugh at the law professor’s almost puppy-like expression. 

“Ah, good to see you too,” Anders said to him. “Also, yes. It was uncovered, and the meeting was cut short.”

“How was it uncovered?” asked Kallian.

Anders realised this wasn't going to come across well, but didn't lie. He explained intercepting the note, and most of the table responded with a chorus of groans and “For fuck sake, Anders”.

“What?!” Anders said indignantly, despite knowing how they'd react. Kallian had closed her eyes and rested her head in her palms. 

Velanna spoke first. “I suppose you think doing that achieved something.”

“That’s not the point. I could hardly take part in it at that point. Also, I wasn’t the only one who left.”

“And now, you won’t make any difference at all,” she said.

“I agree with him,” piped up Kristof. “How can the opposition be expected to run a consultation on the oppression of activists when they oppress activists?” Anders often found support from Kristof when everyone else found his actions a pain in the arse. He was grateful for it, especially since the man was a lawyer and had got him out of trouble on multiple occasions. 

“Possibly a woman of colour activist, might I add?” he said.

“Anders,” Kallian said, using her hands expressively. “You can’t antagonise every public official you meet. Hopefully, since they’re the politicians and need to appease us, they’ll send you an apology and ask you to come back. Like Velanna says, you can write dozens of papers and publish them in the most highly regarded journals forever, but how often do you have a chance to directly affect change?” 

He tried not to sulk as his manager scolded him. He might have an aversion to authority figures, but he did admire the woman and knew he’d end up doing what she told him to. “I’ll keep an eye on my phone,” he said quietly. 

The group spoke about anything else for another half hour, before they really had to get back to work. Anders had two seminars later that afternoon, but mostly he just needed to sit at his desk for a few hours forming new flowery ways to describe ethical concepts. As they got up to leave, Anders’ phone rang. He didn’t hide the disappointment in his voice when he read the caller ID and answered the call. He had been holding out some hope they wouldn’t call him back.

“Hello, Varric.” 

“First name basis now? Well in that case, hi Blondie.”

Anders wasn’t sure how that was supposed to garner his favour, but nonetheless he listened to what the man had to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to MIKKENEKO on Tumblr for ["Someone is WRONG on the INTERNET"](http://mikkeneko.tumblr.com/post/119062288914/mikkeneko-hawke-woke-alone-in-the-bed-the-other)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke deals with the aftermath of that disaster and attempts to prevent a repeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Omphalos for the best beta ever.

Hawke watched as Varric continued to sweet-talk Ms Sabrae. The man was a master manipulator, not due to any malevolent intention, but because he worked out the best solution for everyone and offered it. His charm and wit was just pretty wrapping paper over a much desired gift. 

“Funny you should mention Iraq,” Varric said to Merrill. “I heard through the grapevine that some artefacts have been confiscated in London, but aren't in great shape. Needs an expert such as yourself to look after them until they can be sent back home.”

Merrill gasped. “Have they found someone yet?”

Hawke did sort of want to know how Varric came across that information, but he already knew the answer. Someone, whom Hawke will have never met, told him. Why? Because they're a good friend of Varric's.

“Not to my knowledge, Daisy. Let me put a word in and get back to you.” 

“That's so kind of you!” Merrill beamed. “The situation is so terrible, and I've felt so helpless because I can't actually go over there.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Fenris immediately entered. His waistcoat framed him so snugly that Hawke thought the man's torso was only as wide as his arm. “Everyone, gather round!” Fenris announced like a children's TV presenter. “For I have a tale to tell.” He planted his hands on the table and eyed the three of them with a smirk. “It is called 'The Story of Hawke-gate: a cautionary tale’. Are you listening?”

Hawke let Varric talk to him, introducing Merrill and took a moment to think his own words over. Sure, that meeting had not gone well. Yes, it was Varric who disentangled this clusterfuck, while Hawke sat there like a lemon making awkward attempts at humour because leaving would look even worse. But no one was going to tell the media or escalate the situation, so technically Fenris wasn't even needed. They would meet as planned tomorrow with no severe conflicts of interest. 

“We’ve got it covered,” said Hawke, trying for confidence. “Varric's people are investigating the situation with Lyna Mahariel; then we'll see if it's something we can fix.”

“Varric’s people, is it?” Fenris said, his expression unreadable.

“... yes?” Hawke knew as soon as he said it that it was the wrong answer.

“Varric's people must be busy as it is, surely?” Fenris said, emphasising the last word and smirking at Varric. 

“I see,” Hawke said eventually. “You want me to deal with it?”

“Should this information get to the media, we will need evidence that we tried to make it right.” He paced the room. “It needs to be clear the people who fired her are not representative of our party. We need your name all over this, making enquiries, contacting Mahariel and emphasising every message with anti-racism rhetoric.”

Hawke didn't understand why he was being entrusted with this. There were other senior party members who were people of colour, Fenris himself reporting to be descended from the Philippines. If an MP had to do it, wouldn't the current women and equalities shadow secretary be more appropriate? Hawke was a white man and this could make his interference unwanted. He voiced these thoughts to Fenris.

“Let me stop you right there,” interjected Fenris. “You are not to discuss a word of this with anyone uninvolved. I'd ask the same of you,” he directed at Merrill. “As it is in the interests of your friend.” 

“What?” Hawke said, slack-jawed. “But you just told me to make enquiries.”

“It’s not really my place, anyway,” added Merrill.

“There is this concept called _discretion,_ maybe you have heard of it?” Fernis’ sarcasm was not delivered kindly. “This cannot be misunderstood as a cover-up on your part, so should the media uncover it, we need to show it was always uncovered.”

“Right. So, the information is simultaneously top secret and public knowledge. I think I'm getting the hang of this public figure thing.”

Fenris sighed. “You are better at it than many, but that sets the bar _very_ low.”

“Gosh, you're making me _blush,_ Fenris.”

“So,” started Merrill, frowning. “We shouldn't tell anyone?”

Fenris, either because of defeat or sheer boredom, explained what he meant plainly. He didn't hold back the condescending tone directed at Hawke, however. Hawke was to investigate the case himself because everyone more qualified than he probably didn't know about Mahariel, and they couldn't be told about her because they would then run the risk of accusations from the press. Even off the record, word would spread. Hawke was safe (-ish, not much could be done about The Mail) because he was appointed after it happened. Evidence, which Fenris would leak if necessary, would show that Hawke had investigated the problem as soon as he learnt of it, saving his image and other members of the Shadow Cabinet.

“... And what if someone of importance does know?” asked Hawke.

Fenris grinned wickedly. “Refer them to Isabela.” With that, he straightened up and left without another word. 

“He's a nice man, isn't he?” said Merrill, after the room was silent for a few seconds.

“The nicest,” Varric concurred. “He doesn't truly want me to keep my nose out of this. I'll put you in touch with the right people.”

Hawke felt a headache coming on and opted to finally go on his lunch. As he gathered his things, Varric made the promised phone call for Merrill, and she had her ear pressed up against the back of his mobile. Hawke liked Merrill. He wished the other consultants were as fun as her. This Mister Engels, or whatever his name is, could learn a thing or two about fun. 

The croaky laugh echoed through the corridor before Hawke saw him. _This_ man knew fun a bit too closely, Hawke thought. He didn't really want to talk to Mr. Oghren again, the man clearly having so much free time that he was able to still be here. As Hawke turned the corner, however, he was met with the man in a jovial embrace with the party leader. Hawke automatically changed his posture from the forlorn slouch he was in to a confident stride.

“Jeffrey Orsino!” he announced as he approached them. “And Bran, we can't seem to get rid of you.”

Jeff laughed mildly before saying “We couldn't throw him out even if we tried. He's built like a brick wall.”

Hawke wondered if Varric had found and recruited him lurking around here.

“Hey, don't go talkin’ about me like I'm not here.” Oghren said defensively. To Hawke, he said “So, that went tits up. If all the meetings will be like this you can count me in.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow at Hawke, who immediately panicked. He could feel Fenris’ ire through the walls, tapping his shoulder and whispering quiet threats of resignation in his ear. “No…” he drew out the word. “It was productive and… very promising! Some of the delegates are just quite spirited.” 

“Hah! That's one way of putting it,” Oghren crowed.

Jeff didn't appear any less suspicious. Hawke needed to separate them. 

“Where were you heading?” Hawke asked Jeff. “I heard Isabela was looking for you.” 

He looked more confused if anything. “I saw her not ten minutes ago-” 

“Yes, that's right! She had something else to say I think. She went looking in… Fenris’ office.” 

Jeff grinned, a soft expression that didn't seem fitting to a politician. Hawke meant that as a compliment. “I can't remember the last time someone didn't have to tell me something urgent.” He waved them goodbye and headed upstairs. Hawke was waiting until he was out of earshot, but Oghren spoke first. 

“You could’ve just said Fenris was looking for him.”

Hawke turned on the man, waving his hands frantically and shushing him. “Don't you think the man is busy enough without this to think about?” he hissed. 

Oghren chortled. “Whatever, this just makes it even funnier.”

Hawke quickly texted a warning to both Fenris and Isabela, before leaving Oghren and retreating to the men’s room to hide for ten minutes.

*

The following day Hawke found himself hovering in the meeting room doorway. “I think it would be best if you just took the minutes today.”

Saemus looked up from organising the table. “Erm, isn't that what I was doing anyway?”

Hawke perched himself on the table, sitting on a pen. He awkwardly got up again, pretending he meant to do that. “No. Yesterday, you took the minutes but also contributed. You know I love your suggestions, but perhaps they could wait until after.” 

Saemus didn't say anything but wore a ridiculous pout and made a poor attempt at hiding it as he looked down. Hawke tried to repress his guilt.

“How about you finish this, and I get the guests today?” offered Hawke.

“Perhaps that's for the best, lest I start insulting their mothers and showing them my secret collection of Prophet Mohammed pictures,” he said with a forced smile. 

Hawke grimaced. He was going to retaliate, but could feel the voices of his father and various colleagues in the forces coming through, rather than his own. Instead, he just laughed through gritted teeth and headed downstairs. After all, if there was one thing a politician needed to be good at, it was being friendly with people you’d pissed off. That was especially true today. 

When he entered the reception, his guests appeared to be in animated conversation. The receptionist was glaring anxiously at them.

“How can you suggest something so absurd?” Aveline said to Anders. She was standing, while he looked overly relaxed in his chair. Hawke sighed. 

“It's quite simple really,” Anders bit back. “There are many alternatives.”

“Right. So we should funnel all criminals through restorative justice programs? How do you suppose the families of murder victims will respond to that?” 

“I agree with him,” said Lirene. She was also sitting down, but her back was rigid, and she wouldn't rest her arms. “The prison system fails to change the behaviour of criminals and just causes poverty.”

“There’s problems with the system, but you can't just-”

“Morning all!” Hawke interrupted as he began to resent Varric for finding such opposed individuals. “Have we started today's argument without me?” 

Only Merrill and Oghren laughed, although Hawke could have sworn he saw Anders grin before pointedly looking at the floor. He noticed that he’d opted for an open drape cardigan today, making him look much softer than yesterday. 

“I’ll take that as a firm 'yes’. Shall we?” He gestured to the lifts. 

They mostly followed quietly. Merrill asked Hawke how he was doing since yesterday. He hadn't much to say because nothing else of interest had happened, and he probably shouldn't tell her about the Jeff incident. He eyed Oghren when he remembered, who was talking to Anders while the other man looked bemused by him. Merrill, however, had a great deal to share. Hawke found her endearing and listened intently as she explained her office gossip. 

The meeting room door was open, and Saemus had just walked out of it. As Hawke approached, his intern held up his hands in a clapping gesture, with only his fingers touching. Hawke tried to repress his flinch; that was the warning signal. He mouthed _“why?!”_ at Saemus, who just gestured at the room. At least he didn't hate Hawke enough not to warn him first. 

Hawke got out his phone to text Fenris, but he'd already received a text from him sent less than a minute ago reading 'omw’. _Thank Christ._ He realised at this point he'd stopped listening to Merrill.

“-was massive! And the undergraduates didn't know what to think.”

Hawke quickly put on a smile. “Hah! Yeah, right.”

She frowned slightly. Hawke pretended that the conversation came to a natural end as he entered the room to face _him_. 

“Sebastian!” Hawke said in way of greeting. “Here for the meeting?” he asked, desperately hoping he wasn't. 

“I am,” he said as Hawke's fleeting passion for politics died. The delegates filtered in and sat in their seats. “Saemus was just bringing me a chair.” 

Saemus went off to do just that, limbs stiff. 

“Oh, what's brought you here?” 

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Am I not wanted here?”

_Yes, go away_. “Of course you're welcome here!” Hawke saw Anders scoff in his peripheral vision. It gave him an idea. “Let me introduce you to everyone. Sebastian, this is Dr. Anders Friedrich. Anders, this is Sebastian Vael, or The Right Honorable 4th Earl Starkhaven. I think you'd get along swimmingly.” he said, leaving the room as he neglected to introduce anyone else, but first relishing the mildly disgusted expression on Anders face. Seamus passed him wheeling in an office chair. He looked around for Varric, before remembering he was in a meeting on the other side of London. 

Fenris rounded into the office, almost sprinting, and came to a sudden stop in front of Hawke. His hair was damp, presumably from the rain. “I came as soon as I heard,” he panted. “What does he want?” 

“Don’t know- he's being evasive!” said Hawke. 

Fenris looked into a computer monitor, so outdated it showed his reflection, to fix his suit and neaten his hair. “I will stay as long as he does. What is he doing right now?”

“I introduced him to the academic who stormed out yesterday.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, Fenris looked up to smile at Hawke. “The Communist?” Hawke nodded, and Fenris’ grin only widened. It slightly disturbed Hawke how he liked the praise. Tidied up, Fenris sprayed himself with midrange aftershave and wordlessly entered the meeting room with Hawke close behind. The room was unnervingly quiet, and Sebastian and Anders were just glaring at each other. Sebastian took a moment to register Fenris’ presence, but still said nothing. Hawke gathered something of what had happened by the fact that Oghren was restraining a laugh.

“Saemus, could you...?” said Hawke in a low tone. The lad looked close to snapping as he left to fetch another chair. 

Once everyone was settled, Hawke introduced their extra guests before making a mild joke about yesterday, which seemed to relieve the tense atmosphere. He made a brief comment about what was being done to resolve the scandal but, as Varric advised, did not spend any longer than necessary discussing it. He introduced the topic of criminal charges faced by activists, and the room debated it politely. This included Anders, who tended to refer to his notes when making a complex point, rather than giving attitude. He observed as Anders and Merrill in particular built on each other's points, one prompting the other and both defending their points when contested. 

For an hour and a half, both Sebastian and Fenris were silent. Sebastian often looked as if he were about to say something, but Fenris would just glare and this seemed to repress it. Saemus, thankfully, said nothing. 

It was all going so well. 

“So, Fenris,” Merrill said to him as he was sat beside her, filling a brief silence that Hawke used to write some notes. “Do you have a personal interest in this consultation? Oh, I don't mean to pry, it just seems like I've seen you a lot lately.” 

Fenris smirked. “We all have a vested interest in equal opportunities.”

“Oh, definitely!” She paused, and Hawke was about to start a new topic before she spoke again. “Although I doubt you'd employ an ex-offender, even if their crime was activism related.”

“Hah!” Sebastian blurted out. “What is the policy again, Hawke?”

Hawke suddenly felt the urge to incinerate himself. Perhaps he could ascend straight to heaven if he wished hard enough, nevermind his atheism.

Fenris turned to Merrill fully, ignoring Sebastian and opening up his body language. “Ex-offenders are not prevented from running for elected positions-”

“And paid staff?” interrupted Anders from the other side of Merrill. He glared at Fenris over her head while he just reclined further in his chair. Hawke would have expected anyone else to try and match Anders’ height and redeem some masculinity. Not that Anders was doing this on purpose, but he was lanky and towered over everyone else. It was an effect Hawke himself was used to having on people.

Fenris laughed darkly, causing Hawke to swallow nervously. “Were you looking for a job?” 

_“What the fuck?”_ Hawke thought, screaming internally.

“No, I don't want to work _here._ ” Anders accentuated the words with disgust. “But if I did, would you ever hire someone in my position?”

“And what position is that? Oxbridge academic? I believe we have met the quota for those.”

Hawke glared at Oghren as he suddenly took interest in the meeting, while Saemus typed frantically.

“Whatever. You can't answer the question because if you endorse recruiting ex-offenders, the right wing media will ruin you. If you oppose it, the left will do the same.” He looked away as if the conversation was over. Hawke knew, however, that Fenris wasn't done. 

“Oh, how enlightened you are!” Fenris said sarcastically. Hawke noticed that Merrill, despite looking very small between them, was listening attentively. “Certain you would not consider a position here? Your political expertise would be imperative to us.”

Hawke felt déjà vu as most of his guests became visibly uncomfortable. His annoyance towards Anders’ behaviour was overshadowed by his rage towards Fenris for being so unashamedly unprofessional. He had to intervene.

Anders started to bite back, but Hawke spoke over him. “Personally, I would always consider hiring an ex-offender, so long as the “ex” part is there.” 

“Uh huh,” said Anders. “Because there _definitely_ aren't any current offenders in parliament or your party. Or do white collar crimes not count as real offences?”

“Are you making an accusation?” asked Fenris. “Bold of you to say such things out of ignorance.”

“Who invited this one again?” piped up Sebastian. “I see there was good reason for the concern over this consultation.” 

Anders, Fenris and Hawke snapped their glares towards Sebastian. Simultaneously, Anders told him to fuck off, Fenris stated that the only concern was his own, while Hawke simply said “ _You_ weren't invited at all!”

The sudden silence that followed this was suffocating. Every guest either looked at the four of them in horror, or was pointedly looking away. The exception was Oghren, who was hovering off his seat and grinning widely. It was at this point Hawke realised that Saemus had not stopped typing up the minutes. 

“Well, would you look at the time! Shall we finish for today? Yes? Excellent, we're all agreed!” Hawke said, getting up, Saemus on his tail, and opened the door to gesture everyone out. He whispered to Seamus to send the minutes to Isabela and Varric immediately, but absolutely no one else was to see them. Everyone left without hesitation, except for Fenris, Anders, Sebastian and Merrill. When he turned back to the table, Anders was looking at him sheepishly. He then smiled awkwardly at Hawke, who ignored the part of his brain that thought this was cute.

Sebastian was the first to speak. “Well, Fenris you really do have a knack for talking to voters. Why is it you don't go canvassing much?” 

The man in question seemed to examine Sebastian for seconds before replying. “I am paid to represent our elected officials in the best light possible. Perhaps you failed to notice, but our party was being portrayed badly.”

Anders muttered “wow,” under his breath. 

“I caused that, didn't I? I'm sorry!” said Merrill. “I should know better than to start conversations that cause men to bicker.” 

Her comment caused everyone besides Sebastian to laugh, breaking the tense atmosphere. “Oh, not that women don't argue,” she added. “We do all the time! It's just that touchy subjects are especially risky among men… I'll stop now.” 

Hawke had nothing to add, but decided he wasn't bothered at all by Merrill destroying the meeting. 

“Lighten up, m’lord,” Anders said to Sebastian. His shit-eating grin was, Hawke had to admit, infectious. 

“Yeah, something troubling you, sir?” added Hawke. 

Sebastian’s expression was comical. He resembled an angry cartoon with steam coming out of his ears. “This is a deeply serious problem and you have the audacity to-”

“No one cares, Vael.” said Fenris. 

He continued anyway. “To _laugh._ Fenris, your behaviour is undignified. And Hawke, you've allowed an already problematic meeting to derail into an example of what this party is becoming!” He pushed himself up and marched out of the room. Hawke shut the door behind him.

“I'm sure he's just gone out for a quick smoke,” Hawke said insincerely.

“And now he has fucked off,” said Fenris, getting up and moving to the chairperson’s seat. “Anders, Merrill, we need to talk.” 

“It seems I'm getting talked to a lot lately,” Merrill said quietly. 

“I apologise for that. Before you make a smart comment, Anders, do not.” His tone left no room for argument. 

Hawke then watched Fenris use his own special method of manipulation on the pair. It was not charming like Varric's, and used far fewer words overall, but nonetheless ensured everyone left happy. Merrill agreed to not talk about this without much persuasion as Varric's help was more than enough, whereas the cost of Anders’ silence was greater.

“I want my book in the A-level syllabus.”

Fenris stared at him. 

“That's a tall order. Are you serious?” asked Hawke. “I didn't think you needed money.”

He frowned. “My literature costs the absolute bare minimum, thank you very much. I'm not out to make a profit.”

“Just out to spread your dogma, hmm?” asked Fenris.

“What do you think I've actually written? 312 pages of self-indulgent wank?”

“Yes.” 

Hawke was torn between screaming and laughing. “You two should really get a room.” Fenris said nothing but put on a disgusted expression. 

Anders, however, wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Hawke. Somehow it routed him to the spot, unable to respond.

“Why did everyone stop talking?” asked Merrill, oblivious. “Did I miss something?” 

Hawke broke out of the Anders-induced paralysis to smile at her while he wondered how Varric and Isabela were going to react to this latest mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an actual conversation my beta (whose also my mother) and I had about this chapter:
> 
> Me: "Should I write Orsino closer to Orsino or Corbyn?"  
> Ma: "Well I'm not sure if he should turn into a giant flash monster lol"  
> *  
> Ma: "They are both gently spoken, not that dissimilar"  
> Me: "It does alarm me how similar Orsino is to Corbyn and Meredith to May. Like at first I just saw a gender and age parallel plus sort of politics. But the more I think about it the more similar"  
> Ma: "hehe - is Brexit red lyrium?"
> 
> omg


End file.
